


Dream of the Rotting World in the Wretched Body of Light

by technoapologist



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Foster Care, Gen, More characters to be added, Sad Wilbur Soot, Technoblade and Wilbur Soot are twins, Twins, Will update tags, hes not yet i just think its important to say, idk how to spell it lol, im confident i made mistakes i just dont have friends to beta read for me, no beta read, no romantic relationships, of course, please give philza a break, probably, ranboo will be here, sleepy bois inc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technoapologist/pseuds/technoapologist
Summary: Every night, Tommy dreams of an obscure scene, covered in darkness, where a stranger sits in front of him.Each night, more blood spills in the fantasy world. And, every night, a key sits amidst it.Every night, the stranger speaks in a nothing-language, and Tommy wakes up with a headache, eight hours of nothingness fresh in his mind, and a necklace chain tangled around his neck, a house key jabbing into his skin.On another topic, his new "siblings" are really, really fucking weird.(title is a song by Ada Rook)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 145





	1. Puncgre bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will be putting content warnings at the start of every chapter if theyre needed!!
> 
> just generally though, this will probably be angst-heavy and horror oriented, so that's a heads up.
> 
> for chapter one:  
> vague descriptions of gore

Pain seeped through his skull, poisoning the air around him. The fog that filled the room was thick and unmoving, weighing down his shoulders and tugging at his open eyelids, begging him to shut his eyes. Despite this, he struggled, keeping them torn open and scanning what he could see of the environment. The darkness was something he could deal with. The familiarity, on the other hand, was not.

Thomas reached quietly up to his forehead, entangling his fingers with the locks of his blonde hair, weighing the red that seeped from a point between and above his eyes. It cascaded and poured down his wrist, changing course from its original drip and making its way onto a spot slightly farther than him on the wooden, splintered floor. It looked like an attic, he noted, examining the slants of the ceiling. Webs hung from it, not even constricted to corners, stretched across the sky like trails left behind by planes. Still, the room seemed desolate of life, trapped between being a simple void and somebody’s abode, who, he didn’t know. He couldn’t even spot one arachnid. A light huff escaped his lips, parted slightly and dripping with thickened ocean water.

It was then that he spotted a golden key lying a foot or so ahead of him, now coated in blood. He should have passed out by now, he thought, with the sheer amount of blood seeping through the cracks of the wooden floor. Tommy wasn’t exceptionally knowledgeable on first aid, but he was sure that he would be able to tell a dead body from a live one, even with his damn eyes closed. Copper was a recognizable scent. He wasn’t an idiot. He focused his attention back to the key, attempting to ignore the red trail between his eyes and blurred by perspective. He brought his free hand forward, dipping it into his own drained lifeforce and drawing the key upwards. It looked typical - just a house key, like the kind that old people kept in dishes by the door, and then had the nerve to get surprised when he took them. He was simply proactive. Bitches had to stop locking him out.

The fog cleared slightly.

Ahead of him, he quickly realized, sat another figure. It was taller than him - he could realize that even with how slouched it seemed to be, hugging onto its knees like a lost child. He grimaced. Tall people were freaks of nature. If he ever became president, he thought, he would ensure that tall people weren’t allowed to leave their houses. He paused for a moment, took a breath, and prevented himself from going off on a tangent in a moment like this. The person before him had brown hair, curled tighter than his, and wore a sweater that was the ugliest shade of yellow Tommy had ever seen. He opened his mouth to speak to it, but felt salt quickly engulf it. He sputtered, choking and spitting the seemingly endless flow of blood from his mouth.

“Fuck-”

At the noise, the figure turned quickly. Glasses sat on the lower bridge of his nose, loose enough that they would fall if he even tried to look down. Tommy froze, staring ahead at him like a deer in headlights. Though, he thought, he could probably take the guy on. Thomas wasn’t the strongest man alive, but the stranger seemed farther from it than him, and if the bags under his eyes could say anything, he certainly wasn’t suited with the energy to fight. Still, the blonde stayed silent, staring ahead cautiously. The stranger stared through him, as if nothing was out of place, watching a few moments after confirming he was ‘alone’ before turning back to whatever had entranced him moments before.

Tommy opened his mouth to curse in confusion, and was immediately back to sputtering blood. The stranger flinched and went to turn, but was interrupted. “Qvaare,” a voice called out from maybe a floor below. It was monotonous and dull, and Tommy had no fucking clue what it was even intended to say. He couldn’t even tell what language it might have been. At least, it didn’t sound latin. The stranger’s shoulders hunched forward even more. He sighed quietly.

“Evtug,” he responded, not making any moves. He didn’t seem too interested in the topic, at least in comparison to whatever he was staring at. The way he spoke sounded slightly foreign to what the other voice exclaimed, as if accented. Tommy leaned to the left, and crawled a few paces, but the darkness engulfed the space just in front of the stranger. 

“Lbh’yy unir gb pbzr qbja gb qvaare riraghnyyl. Lbh qba’g rng rabhtu. Cuvy’f jbeevrq, Jvyohe,” the distorted voice said, leaving a few moments of silence between the two. The stranger before him opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. After a few moments, it opened again;

“Vg’f pbyq, Grpuab.”

His lips didn’t match the noises they formed.

* * *

Six FUCKING thirty in the morning. How ridiculous was that? Thomas couldn’t think of a single fucking reason that his alarm had to be set for 6:30, or why he needed three hours to pack his shit for his next home if the bitchass workers forced him to pack it the night prior anyways. And, of course, to top it all off, he had a seething fucking migraine. God really had no fucking mercy on him. 

Of course, he had told the counselors - a stupid fucking title, if you asked him, considering they were more like a therapist on peaceful mode - about the god-awful headaches he found himself waking up with, and they always directed him towards his dreams, no matter how many times he told them he couldn’t fucking remember his dreams. Actually, he just said he didn't have any, and that he was above dreams, which was completely true, but they went on and on about how ‘superiority complexes’ ‘weren’t’ a ‘healthy’ ‘coping mechanism’ for ‘self-doubt’. Tommy thought they were full of shit, and that meant that they were, since he was always right. 

He lazily lifted the pillow from over his head, tossing it onto the floor and slamming his hand onto his alarm clock. He never actually managed to figure out which button turned it off, but he didn’t really have to, since he could just hit random buttons until the thing stopped fucking screaching at him. After a few seconds, he was once again successful. Next, he sat up, tugged the drawer to his bedside table open, and pulled out a mini stapler. He popped open the bottom, pulling two Advil from a rubber compartment and swallowing them dry.

Yeah, sure, he wasn’t supposed to have them, or whatever. It wasn’t his fault they were so shit at finding the stuff he hid. He was just a genius. Maybe they should get smarter, or something, so they would stop being so god-damn stupid. He waited a few seconds, disappointed that they didn’t immediately stop the pain, before yawning and stretching his arms into the air. It wasn’t even sunny outside yet. This fucking sucked.

He stumbled out of bed, pulling on jeans and a shitty white shirt with a red collar. He wasn’t particularly interested in fashion, and even if he was, it wasn’t like he had a stable source of income to buy shit with. He glanced in the mirror, caught a glimpse of himself, and frowned with content. He pulled the chains of a necklace from under his shirt, tugging out a golden house key. 

He didn’t really know what it unlocked. He found it in the grass outside when he was, like, tiny, and thought it was so cool that he kept it. By now, it was just a good luck charm - which was hilariously ironic, considering one time when he was running around it flew up and hit him square on the forehead, causing enough of a cut that it was still scarred over after so many years. He made eye contact with the mirror-Tommy and nodded. He wasn’t ready for the day, but he never would be, so who’s to care?

* * *

“He’ll be here any minute now.”

“Right.”

“We aren’t sure if Mister Watson will be bringing his sons when he picks you up, but-”

“Woah, Emily, Phil has sons? And no one fucking told me? What the fuck!” Tommy exclaimed, a sort of ironic fear in his voice, covering up for his actual genuine fear at such a discovery. Emily- a shitty name, he thought, - scowled at him, wrinkling her cheeks even more than they already were. Tommy may love women, but Emily was an exception. He was supposed to call her by her last name, but he had forgotten it, and she had given up reminding him.

“Mister Watson has two twin boys. They’re a bit older than you. He got them through the system,” she said, aggravated already. He would say she woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but that would mean both sides were wrong, and she was always freshly awake from her slumber, because she was always like this. Actually, he would consider this a better mood than normal. “Which, Thomas, I already told you. Pay attention, I know you’re not that forgetful.”

“I never forget anything, Emily. I’m fucking smart. You’re the one forgetting. Have you tried remembering, Emily? You know, so you stop forgetting?” She stared at him with a sort of bored frustration, and he stared back with confidence. A moment later, she sighed, redirecting her gaze to the crappy bag at his side.

“You have everything packed?” she asked, not caring at all if he did. He nodded triumphantly, picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder. Emily nodded with exasperation, turning to watch the door. As if on queue, two men walked in. Tommy stared in silence. 

Maybe he was joining the circus, not staying with another family. 

“Mister Watson,” Emily exclaimed, her voice far more sugary than it had been moments before when she addressed Tommy alone, “Thank you for coming. Tommy, this is Mister Watson, and one of his sons-” She fell silent, met with the realization that she wasn’t aware of the guy’s name. Neither of them looked like children, but Tommy guessed the blonde dude was the father, because the other guy had pink hair, and he didn’t think old people liked colored hair.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Still smiling, the presumed father nudged the weirdass scene kid, who seemed somewhat startled for a moment before deadpanning, “Technoblade.” Tommy stared quietly, making a moment of eye contact, before bursting into a fit of laughter. Emily turned to him with rage, though, admittedly, she seemed surprised as well.

‘Technoblade! How’s it going, big man! The blade!” He exclaimed, grinning into his words. Technoblade stared at him without response. The joke suddenly seemed a lot less funny, and Tommy fell silent. After another moment of nothing, Phil cleared his throat.

“Well, Thomas-”

“Tommy.”

“Right. Tommy. My car is just outside, and my other son is waiting in there, so let’s get your bag in the back and go get lunch, sound good?” He smiled warmly, and Tommy was suddenly a lot more nervous. Phil seemed genuinely nice. That was a bad fucking sign. That, and, the Technoblade-dude looked fucking terrifying, standing there next to him. Tommy nodded quietly and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. It didn’t budge.

With a smile and an ‘alright’ from Phil, he followed the two of them out of the building, sticking his tongue out at Emily for a moment, who scowled in return. They made their way to a red car, one of the big ones that people get when they want to have lots of children - which he thought was fucking weird, but that’s off topic. As they approached it, the passenger seat window opened, and another guy stuck his head out, grinning widely and staring at Tommy. This guy was a lot less scary looking, luckily, - actually, he looked like a nerd, or maybe worse with that beanie - so a little bit of hope was regained on Tommy’s side.

“Phil!” he exclaimed, and Tommy was immediately confused as to how one of the twins was American, the other was British, and they were both adopted by the same dude, but his confusion was stopped short when the brunette finished, “You didn’t tell me you were getting a whole-ass child! What is he, twelve?” He had a shit-eating grin, one which grew at Tommy’s scowl. Phil frowned at him, already busy with putting Tommy’s bag in the back, and opened his mouth to speak, but Tommy beat him to it.

“Oi, fuck you! Get back to writing poetry or some shit, fuckwad!” Tommy planned to keep going, but by his second word, the smile had fallen straight off of the older’s face. It was downright unsettling how quickly his expression changed. Before Tommy could point it out, the window was rolled up, and Techno was staring at him from within the car, with that kind of look that meant, “Hurry up, idiot.” 

And, since Tommy wasn’t an idiot, he climbed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lynx out yall thisll peobably update pften because i dont go to school
> 
> ps: idfk how to do notes if these are set up to show on every chapter so help me ao3 is so confusing ill figure it out next time :]
> 
> edit: yeah i did it wrong but i fixed it now


	2. whovyrr yvar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets accustomed to his new abode.

Tommy wasn’t sure what he expected his first meal out of the group home to be like, but this for sure wasn’t it. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like waffles. He actually quite preferred them to the food he got in the home. He had ordered chocolate chip waffles, but, unfortunately, they weren’t ready-made. He had to socialize. That would be a lot nicer if he was surrounded by women, not some kids who looked like they had been horrendously bullied their entire life.

Technoblade - he held back a laugh just thinking of the name. It really was ridiculous. He didn’t know how anyone could seriously call themselves that, but it didn’t involve him, - was reading quietly, his knees folded to his chest and leaning on the table. The book was thick as all fuck, labeled with something about war. Tommy was beginning to feel absolute terror just in the presence of Technoblade, and he didn’t know how he would handle living with the guy until he got into enough shit that they sent him home. 

The unnamed brunette, on the other hand, had bluetooth earbuds in loud enough that Tommy could hear it across the table. He was seemingly off in his own world, staring at the empty spot on the table in front of him, and drawing a bony finger lightly over the patterns. Just as it was about to get too awkward to handle, Philza cleaned his throat.

Techno noticed immediately, vision sweeping upwards as he folded the page gingerly to save his spot and set down the book on the window sill. His twin, however, didn’t make a move. Techno nudged him lightly, which he jumped at, quickly tugging an earbud from his ear. 

“Yeah?”

Technoblade remained silent, instead motioning slightly towards Phil, who was smiling patiently. His son seemingly caught on, tugging the other earbud and returning them to his pocket, but not looking all that glad now that he had to be attentive. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, looking anywhere but at Tommy, who was staring carelessly. The air was thick, that was for sure. Phil ignored it, if he even noticed it in the first place. 

“Are you all going to do your own thing, or are we going to talk to each other?” The older man chuckled warmly, earning a shrug from the brunette. Technoblade didn’t make a move to answer. Tommy was quickly falling under the belief that neither of his new ‘siblings’ spoke, and it was getting on his nerves.

“Well, big man, I would be speaking if anyone here planned on responding. The lanky motherfucker was quick to mock me, but shut up right after. What a pussy,’ he responded, enunciating each syllable with overconfidence. A snide grin quickly grew across the brunette’s face, and his twin sighed with exasperation, looking out the window tiredly. 

“Sorry, Tomathy, but your voice was so high-pitched that it scared me. Are you prepubescent?” He spoke in a tone somewhat similar to a hum, lilting his sentences with pride. Phil watched him with the kind of face a dad makes when he wants you to know he’s disappointed, but wants to leave everyone else in the dark. His shitbag of a son didn’t seem phased by the look at all.

“I am fourteen! That’s practically an adult!” Tommy exclaimed, grimacing towards the brunette, who waved him off with a limp wrist as if he was of minimal concern. That frustrated Tommy deeply, since he would like to be anything BUT minimal.

“Fourteen, sure, sure - I don’t believe you, Tomathy. I’ll be upset if I’m only three years older than someone as immature and crude as you. You have to be twelve, at most,” he responded, grinning widely. Techno’s hand was slowly inching back towards his book, and Phil was growing less and less patient. “If you really are fourteen, though, no wonder dad took you, he’s used to dealing with toddlers. You’re probably the closest they h-”

“Wilbur, enough,” Phil cut him off, already exhausted despite their food not even being on the table yet. “You can bicker later. Tommy just got here, and you know how the system is.” Wilbur shrugged carelessly, but dipped his head slightly in defeat like a lost dog. Tommy grinned. He took that as winning the argument. “Now, Tommy,” Phil said, snapping Thomas out of his moment of pride. Tommy looked at him quickly, eyeing him with more than a hint of suspicion. Tommy, as well as Wilbur, knew how the system was. He had been to too many families to bother remembering, and each one of them posed a different threat than the other. Phil wasn’t going to be an exception to these rules, no matter how much sugar he was coated in on the occasion of them meeting. 

“Big man,” Tommy answered, with a nod. Wilbur laughed lightly in the background. Phil nodded, and Wilbur laughed more.

“I know that getting used to new houses is probably god-fucking-awful, so I won’t put any pressure onto you off the bat. You’ll have your own room, same hall as Wil and Techno’s, so I won’t be pissed if you hole yourself up for a while. But you’ll have to get to school eventually.” Tommy was even more off-put. That’s too fucking nice. No foster parent cared this fucking much.

“I’ll go to school,” he answered without hesitation, watching the momentary surprise on Phil’s face fade into a smile. “I think I’ll be bored in your house. No offense, you just have very boring children.” There was a squawk of anger from Wilbur, and absolute silence from Techno, who had retrieved his book at this point. Phil nodded with simple content.

“I am not boring,” Wilbur said simply, popping one earbud in. Tommy scoffed, grinning at him, before Wilbur continued. “Techno might be, but saying I’m boring is beyond a stretch. Everyone loves me. I'm popular.”

Techno didn’t even look up from his book, simply deadpanning, “You’re not.”

“I so am!” Wil exclaimed, turning to Techno defensively. “Like you would know, you don’t have, like, a single friend! I’m friends with everyone.”

“You look like the kind of guy to commit crimes in a school building, Wilbur. Like, arson type crimes. Or drugs,” Tommy announced. Wilbur’s face paled.

“I do not do drugs.”

“That’s the face of a man who does drugs. I’m telling the administration as soon as I find the main office.”

Before Wil could bite back, plates of food were set onto the table, and Tommy was met with the most sugar-rush bullshit of a waffle he had ever seen. Even if Phil ended up sucking, this made it worth it. Hopefully.

* * *

The house was a lot bigger than Tommy expected. He stared at it, leaning against the car and taking it in. Behind him, he heard a thump, turning to see that Wilbur had failed to carry his bag. He snickered as he watched the brunette struggle, and burst into a fit of laughter when Technoblade walked up and slung the bag over his shoulder with ease. He ignored Wilbur’s cursing fit behind him, and seemingly, so did everyone else. Techno walked ahead, unlocking the door and bringing Tommy’s belongings inside.

Tommy didn’t know if Technoblade was a kleptomaniac, but if any of his shit was missing, he was going to burn the house down. 

Wilbur ran ahead next, making up for his apparent lack of strength with decent speed, at least for the time it took him to go down the walkway. He slipped in the door after Technoblade, sliding by it without touching it at all. And so, Tommy was left with Phil, staring in silence at the house.

“Tommy,” Phil started, and Tommy turned quickly to the man, “If any of them give you too much trouble, don’t hesitate to tell me. Techno should be pretty tame, so you don’t have to worry much about things getting physical, but Wil… He can be a little aggressive. He’s very territorial.”

“Like a dog,” Tommy noted.

“Like a dog,” Phil agreed.

“He’s going to piss in my room and shit. I’m going to get there first so he can’t. I don’t like furries.” With that, Tommy ran down the walk, pulling the door open. He was met almost immediately with a flight of stairs and rooms to his left and right. To his left was a living room, and to his right was a kitchen, so he went up. At the top of the stairs, he caught sight of Wilbur entering the second door and closing it again, and then the sound of a lock.

That’s one of them out of the way. W.

He walked forward, almost reaching the third door before stopping suddenly as Technoblade walked out of it, turning to him quietly. Tommy had already noticed that he was the shortest, closest in height to Phil, which he found really fucking weird, but it was a lot more unnerving now that Techno was staring him down from a five inch vantage point. 

“...Oi. Big man. Where’s my room.”

Technoblade didn’t speak, instead nodding to the room he had just exited, and walking further down the hall into, presumably, his own room. He, unlike Wilbur, didn’t lock the door. Tommy stood in silence for a good moment, processing the sheer minimalism of that interaction, before frowning with content and entering his own room. A grin grew quickly onto his face.

Shit. This wasn’t all that tiny. It was still a twin bed, sure, but he had a desk, and shit. How fucking cool was that? Naturally, he threw himself onto the mattress without regard to how stiff it may be. He found it to be of a nice density.

* * *

Tommy only made it twenty minutes alone in his room before he got bored.

He groaned with frustration, standing from his bed and stretching out his arms, before stumbling back into the hallway. Techno’s door was still closed, which he wasn’t too surprised by, considering how the guy seemed to behave in social situations. Wilbur’s, on the other hand, was wide open.

Tommy walked closer to it on his way to the stairs, and paused in front of it. He was not a snoop. He nodded to himself, acknowledging his thought, and, by extension, the correctness of it, before poking his head into Wilbur’s room. It was about the size of the one his stuff was in, but the walls were painted yellow, and posters covered half of the space. He had seemingly ditched the bed frame initiative, instead sleeping on a mattress placed directly onto the ground, and had spray painted the shit out of one of his walls. Wilbur was kind of fucking cool, Tommy dud not acknowledge that thought like he had the previous. He retracted and went down the stairs as if he hadn’t done a thing.

As he walked downstairs, the strumming of a guitar became more and more audible, and next, a voice alongside it. He stood at the entrance of the living room and looked in, spotting the brunette sat on the couch, playing an acoustic guitar in a way that Tommy just had to be impressed by, since he had never played an instrument in his life. He decided that it couldn’t hurt to stand and listen for just a while longer.

Wilbur seemed off in his own world, strumming at the strings with a violent kind of sentiment that Tommy could almost see in the air. He was hunched over, cradling the guitar in his lap like it was a raft left in the middle of an ocean. The lyrics- the lyrics were more than Tommy had expected. They were a lot more than he knew how to acknowledge.

“There’s a reason London puts barriers on the tubeline. There’s a reason London puts barriers on the-” His hand skipped over the strings, and he threw the pick in frustration, “Fuck!” Tommy stared quietly, unsure what to make of the situation, and Wilbur looked up in silence, staring at him. The eye contact lasted a lot longer than Tommy would have preferred.

“What are you doing here, Gremlin?” He asked in a light hum, but the words were almost spat out. Tommy watched him awkwardly, pulling a thumbs up.

“This is the living room,” he noted.

“Oh, fuck, really?” Wilbur exclaimed sarcastically. 

“...You could’ve played in your room?” Tommy noted next, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and bother the shit out of Techno.”

There was a moment of silence.

“...It was kind of pog,” Tommy said with a nod.

“...The fuck is pog?” Wilbur responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is six forty in the morning and i wrote this instead of sleeping POG
> 
> shamless self promo follow me on instagram @mikufuck aw yeah awyah aw yeah 
> 
> gn gamers
> 
> wait also.  
> philza- 32, 5’11  
> tommy- 14, 5’10  
> wilbur- 17, 6’5  
> techno- 17, 6’5
> 
> took some liberties bc wil and techno are twins. also wilbur says tommy is 5’10 so bam


End file.
